And then the words filtered through the hazy fog in his head and Will felt as if he’d been punched in the stomach. Desire vanished. Heat turned to ice.
Two weeks? His gut churned and a strange kind of numbness began to seep through him. Two weeks?
So she had lied.
For a few long moments a taut kind of silence descended over the table. Will stared at her, watching her expression fill with distress and her eyes cloud, and steeled himself against the unwelcome effect he suspected her reaction could have on him if he let it.
Of course she was distressed, he thought grimly. She’d been caught out.
And then, with a demonstration of self-control he might have admired had he not been so furious, Bella pulled her shoulders back, smoothly rose to her feet and cast them all a cool smile.
‘Please do excuse me,’ she said, and ran for the bathroom.
CHAPTER EIGHT
OH GOD, oh God, oh God.
Bella rested her burning forehead against the mirror but it did nothing to cool the heat and the turmoil churning through her body.
Gripping the edge of the vanity unit to stop herself from shaking quite so uncontrollably, she drew back and stared at her reflection. Her face was as white as the napkin she’d just thrown down, and her eyes looked huge and troubled.
Not that that was any surprise. Tonight was turning out to be the most horrendous night she’d ever had. The whole evening was hurtling out of control and she had no idea how to stop it.
And it was all entirely her own fault.
How could she have thought that asking Sam to pretend to be mad about her, to hang onto her every word and appear to be unable to keep his hands off her was a good idea? Since when had she played that kind of game? Shame battered its way into the tangle of emotions racing around inside her, and Bella stifled a groan.
Had she completely lost the plot?
It had seemed like such an excellent plan at the time, when she’d been so wrong-footed and ill at ease, but with hindsight it was childish and knee-jerkingly stupid.
Releasing her death grip on the edge of the sink, Bella locked her knees and dug around in her handbag for her lip gloss.
Why, oh, why couldn’t Sam have told her she was out of her tiny little mind and refused point-blank, instead of glancing over at Will and Rosie, grinning and saying sure, why not?
And why had he had to embrace the role with quite such enthusiasm?
Every time he’d touched her, or even smiled at her, she’d sensed Will’s tension level rocket, and had to bite back the urge to snap at Sam to cut it out.
But then Will had started talking about heat and things, and her tension level had shot up and she’d found herself wanting to encourage Sam.
Rosie with her possessive hand planting hadn’t helped. Bella had seen the none-too-subtle movement—and Will’s lack of reaction—and it had nearly crucified her. She would have to be a professor of bloody astrophysics, wouldn’t she? Bella thought glumly, applying a layer of gloss to her lips. Why couldn’t she have been a vacuous model or something? Why did she have to have legs up to her armpits, a killer figure, a mane of shiny red hair and brains?
God, it wasn’t fair.
And actually neither was she, she acknowledged, her hand stilling as she paused and frowned at her reflection. It wasn’t really Rosie’s fault there was all this tension crashing around, and nor was it Sam’s. In fact if it hadn’t been for those two, conversation, at least of the verbal kind, would have been pretty thin on the ground.
Besides, she didn’t believe in the fairness—or lack of—of life. She believed you were in charge of your own destiny and made your own choices. So her current predicament was entirely of her making.
However, being aware of tha
t didn’t make it any less awful, did it? she thought as the scene she’d fled flew into her mind and sent a fresh wave of nausea rolling around her stomach. When Sam had blithely announced that they’d been seeing each other for two weeks she’d seen Will blanch and had known what he’d have thought. And then his eyes had drilled into hers, demanding an explanation, and, what with the heat and the desire and the confusion churning around inside her, she hadn’t been able to stand it any longer.
So here she was. Hiding in the loos and wishing she could stay here for ever because she had the terrifying feeling that sooner or later all this pressure was bound to explode, and she wasn’t sure she was prepared to face the consequences.
But what choice did she have?
The bathroom window was far too small to escape through and she really couldn’t stay in here for ever. Her only option was to go out and face the music that she’d composed.