‘Every inch of you is perfect.’
My heart pounded. Who was this man? ‘The day I arrived here you implied you couldn’t wait to get rid of me.’
‘I didn’t trust myself to be alone with you. I was irritated for not having anticipated it and putting us in that position.’
‘It was rude.’
‘It was instinctive. It felt necessary. Self-preservation if you like.’
I knew all about that. ‘You haven’t exactly been friendly since.’
‘As you keep pointing out—as if I need reminding—we aren’t friends. But even if we were, it must be pretty bloody obvious by now that friendly is not how I feel about you.’
I swallowed hard. ‘Why did you never say anything?’
‘I’m not that much of a masochist.’
‘So why are you telling me now?’
‘Because I need it to stop,’ he muttered darkly. ‘It’s been going on for far too long. I need to move on. I need you to laugh at me the way you did by the pool and tell me I never had a chance in hell and never will. And if not now, when we’re stuck here with nowhere to go, then when?’
I could do that, I thought, my head spinning. I could easily do that. One quick scathing remark and that would be the end to this.
But I didn’t want to.
And besides, it would be a lie.
I could no longer kid myself that the electricity and tension gripping my entire body were simply as a result of stress or meteorology playing havoc with my senses. Everything I’d thought incomprehensible, as transparent as mud, had become crystal clear.
The pieces of the puzzle had all fallen into place and I could now see thatthiswas what the last thirteen years had been about. Despite my best efforts, I hadn’t crushed the crush in the slightest. All along, behind the aloofness on his side and the hurt and frustration on mine, beneath the thick layer of icy hostility and forced civility, had been the simmering mutual attraction that had flared into life that afternoon by the pool and never gone away.
That had to be why I sometimes filled with the overwhelming urge to provoke a reaction from him. Why I’d never attempted to greet him with a kiss and had taken such care not to touch him all these years. Subconsciously I must have known it would all have lit a fire inside me that would have been impossible to extinguish.
So what was the point of pretending I didn’t want Nick when it was blindingly obvious I did? Especially when, against all the odds, the feeling appeared to be reciprocated. I longed for his touch. I dreamed of his mouth. I’d become so practised at denying myself the good things in life—I’d had no choice—but I didn’t have to deny this. I could have both his touchandhis mouth. All I had to do was admit it, which wasn’t a challenge at all.
‘I can’t do that,’ I said, beyond desperate to find out what might happen next and willing to do anything to facilitate it.
He tensed. ‘Why not? Does the thought of continuing to screw with my head amuse you that much?’
‘God, no.’
‘Then what are you saying?’
‘I may not remember whatIwas wearing that afternoon by the pool,’ I said, miraculously having the presence of mind to quit the cloth and rummage around in the kit for a dressing. ‘But I remember whatyouwere. A pair of black board shorts. That was it. You’d never really crossed my radar before. But my friends were talking about you and suddenly you did. You were all I could see. You sent me and my teenage hormones into a complete spin. I didn’t take your rejection well and in my immaturity I lashed out. I spent the next three years partying hard in an attempt to eradicate the shame and shake my attraction to you.’
Silence. And then, a rough, ‘Did you succeed?’
‘I thought I had.’
‘Thought?’
‘I’ve recently had cause to revise my opinion.’
‘What cause?’
My heart thudded. ‘You want me to spell it out?’
‘I want no more misunderstandings.’