Lily didn’t sleep well—largely because she’d spent most of the night tossing and turning while her body hummed with frustration and unsatisfied desire and her mind churned with confusion—and when dawn broke she was still wide awake, the questions that had plagued her all through the night still rattling around her head.
What on earth was Kit playing at? she wondered, staring up at the slowly rotating ceiling fan that hung over her bed and listening to the soft whirr it made.
Last night she could have sworn he’d been as aware of her as she had of him. She’d been convinced that the practically tangible tension and attraction had been mutual. And what with the endearment, the one she hadn’t heard for years, and the touch to her cheek, a gesture so familiar and so missed it made her heart ache just to think about it now, she’d been certain he’d ask to come in for a nightcap, and equally certain that she’d say yes.
But how wrong she’d been. How disappointingly, confusingly wrong.
After the urgency of what had happened in her hall last week and the way he’d crossed half the globe to come and find her—not to mention the interest she’d thought he’d displayed over dinner—the fact that he’d suddenly backed off baffled the hell out of her. She hadn’t been expecting—or wanting—the restraint she’d got, the chaste little kiss, nor the tossing of the ball neatly into her court.
And what was that all about anyway?
What had he meant when he’d said that what happened next was up to her? Why was it up to her? And up to her how?
What was he expecting her to do? Make a move? Jump his bones or something? Well, that was never going to happen without some kind of signal from him, she thought darkly. Not now. No way. She needed to know how he felt about her before she made herself vulnerable like that again. She needed to know that there was more to this than just sex.
And unfortunately she didn’t, because, while last night she’d had all kinds of ideas about how he might feel about her and had been so ready to drag him into her bed, this morning she didn’t have a clue. For all she knew the endearment and the touch had merely slipped out of him from habit and meant nothing.
So where did they go from here? Where did she want them to go? Where did he?
Bending her head from side to side to stretch out the kinks in her neck, Lily frowned. Gosh, why was this so difficult? So complicated?
With a sigh of resignation and despair because she was now more at sea than at any point since he’d reappeared in her life, Lily swung her legs round and got off the bed.
Whatever was going on, she thought, heading into the bathroom and flicking on the shower, she had no doubt she’d soon find out, because given the way Kit had gone about things so far it was surely only a matter of time before he turned up demanding to know what she was going to do with that ball.
*
Or perhaps it wasn’t.
Two hours later Lily had had breakfast—by herself—and had hovered by the pool for plenty long enough to be found, but to her agitation and disappointment there was no sign of Kit anywhere.
Where was he? Busy? Avoiding her?
Or had he left?
Maybe he had, thought Lily, lowering the e-reader that she’d been staring unseeingly at for the last ten minutes, and frowning with distaste as the idea shot into her head and took root.
Perhaps she’d been too idealistic in her assumption that they’d cleaned the slate. Perhaps her confession over supper put him off or something. She couldn’t really see why it would, and the ease of their subsequent conversation hadn’t given her that impression, but with hindsight she had rather let it all out without letting him get much of a word in edgeways.
Perhaps their conversation, the understanding they’d reached and the catch-up they’d had was exactly what he’d been after—closure—and now he’d got it he was done.
Maybe he was after nothing more than friendship or something and he was perfectly happy for her to let him know what she thought about that once back in London.
Maybe the kiss he’d dropped on her cheek had been not one of restraint but one of goodbye.
Her heart squeezed and her throat tightened. Then she gave herself a quick shake and pulled herself together because on the other hand it was entirely possible she was being a bit melodramatic about where he could be.
Surely Kit wouldn’t have flown all the way out here just to leave less than twenty-four hours later. Hadn’t he said he was on holiday? And surely he’d want to hang around to hear what decision she’d come to, even though she hadn’t come to one because she still couldn’t figure out what she was supposed to be deciding.
For her own peace of mind, though, and out of respect for the author of the book she was struggling to concentrate on, maybe she’d better go and check if he was still here. Then at least she’d know one way or another and would know how to proceed.
Putting her e-reader down and reaching for her sarong, Lily got to her feet and headed inside.
‘Good morning,’ she said to the receptionist, with a sunny smile that totally belied the weird kind of tension now clutching at her stomach. ‘I was wondering, could you tell me whether Christopher Buchanan has checked out?’
‘Not to my knowledge, madam,’ he replied.
‘Oh, thank God for that,’ she said, clapping her hand to her chest and letting out a rush of breath as the tension dissipated and she filled with an overwhelming sense of relief. More overwhelming than the situation warranted, probably, but who cared?