‘I assumed you thought more of me.’
‘I don’t think anything of you,’ I said, stifling a sigh of exasperation. ‘That isn’t what this is about. I keep telling you that.’
‘You keep telling yourself that.’
What did that mean? That he knew me better than I knew myself? That was a bit presumptuous. ‘Anyway,’ I said, moving on from irritating observations that were too cryptic to work out, ‘don’t you ever worry that your friends like you only for your money?’
‘No.’
‘Well, I do,’ I said, as he turned his attention to the door. ‘After what happened before, I’m petrified I’ll make bad choices again. I still can’t quite bring myself to believe one hundred per cent in people’s motivations. It’s even more of a concern now that I have all this money.’
‘So why play the lottery?’
‘Because I wanted a little bit of what I once had,’ I said a tad wistfully. ‘I wanted to be able to spend money without worrying about it. And there are things I miss. Like fresh flowers and amazing food. Not even having to think about bills. I never really expected to win, certainly not the amount I did. I realise that my complaints are very much of the “my diamond shoes are too tight” variety but the responsibility is immense and, frankly, terrifying. When I think of how close I came to losing it my blood runs cold.’
‘Don’t blame yourself for being susceptible,’ he said, retrieving a ladder from the boathouse and propping it up against the side of the building. ‘It happens.’
‘I bet it doesn’t happen to you.’
‘You’d be surprised.’
I watched him pick up the electric screwdriver and refix the door to the hinges with unexpectedly attractive competence and thought of his strength, his self-assurance, his drive to succeed and his single-minded focus. He might have issues about his place in the world but, presumably, one didn’t rise from nothing to become a billionaire businessman without a little bit of ruthlessness and a whole lot of savvy. The idea of him being susceptible to anything in any conceivable way was laughable. ‘I would indeed.’
CHAPTER ELEVEN
HAVINGREPAIREDTHEdamaged building the best we could with the limited kit we had, Nick and I returned to the boat and loaded it back up. While he opened the throttle and steered in the direction of the longer western coast of the island, I closed my eyes, sat back and lifted my face to the breeze.
But it wasn’t as relaxing an experience as I might have been forgiven for thinking it would be. The conversations we’d had today kept spinning round my head and with every passing minute the unsettling sense of foreboding winding through my body was strengthening. I was feeling increasingly on edge and jittery, untethered and at sea metaphorically as I was literally.
I didn’t like the way he said things that I simply couldn’t work out or that he constantly seemed to think he knew something I didn’t. The fact that the only area in which we were on the same page was sex worried me but not as much as the realisation that, despite my concerted efforts to keep what was going on strictly physical, I wanted to cross the line into the personal.
I wanted to know everything about him. The big things and the small. His hopes, his fears, his dreams. I wanted to know what his favourite colour was. His musical tastes. More about his background, which had to have been so formative, and where he really hoped he’d be in five years’ time. I didn’t want to leave Suza until I knew it all. I didn’t much want to leave at all.
The trouble was, he was so much more complicated and layered than I could ever have imagined. So much more interesting and compelling and surprising.
Take the talking that had been going on. When I’d first met him, he’d been adolescently sullen. For years, we’d exchanged the most cursory of words. But not any longer. I’d learned more about him in the past week or so than I had in eighteen years and whereas, only ten days ago, he’d stared at me in horror at the mere hint of tears and I’d been convinced that his was not a shoulder to cry on, I now had the feeling that perhaps it was.
And none of this was good.
I didn’t need to know any of the things I longed to know. My heartstrings shouldn’t have been tugged by his brief revelations about his upbringing. I had no business wondering what it might be like to have him truly on my side, to be loved by him. The way he’d corrected my chronically low self-esteem in so many different ways shouldn’t mean anything. I oughtn’t to care about the fact that he’d seemed gutted by my revelation that I couldn’t rely on him and would never trust him.
This wasn’t some great sweeping romance where everyone sailed off into the sunset and lived happily ever after. This was simply an attempt to examine the past, work through misunderstandings and address the unacceptable and intolerable tension so we could move forward, while having some seriously fantastic sex. Yet I was in danger of losing sight of this.
I was normally so level-headed, so sensible, but around him I behaved completely irrationally. Since my return to Suza, I’d allowed him to push and challenge me. I’d talked to him, with barely a moment’s hesitation, and while I’d just about managed to keep my deepest secrets to myself, I’d told him enough.
I was out of control and it had to stop. What we’d been doing didn’t feel thrilling any more. It felt impossibly dangerous. If we continued with this even a day or two longer, I could see myself falling further under his spell, further into a deepening pit from which there’d be no escape. I might start craving conversation, seeking his opinion and wanting that shoulder to cry on. I might share with him the conflicting feelings I had about my father, the sorrow and regret I felt about being too afraid to let anyone close. And if I did, I’d be barrelling down a path that would only lead to more pain when he left, which everyone did, one way or another.
I should never have given into temptation and stayed. I should have paid attention to the warning signs, of which there’d been many. But it wasn’t too late to rectify the situation. The clarity of my mind and the strength of my resolve were matched only by my desperate need for self-preservation.
After disembarking I strode up the jetty, aware that Nick was hot on my heels. He took my elbow and steered me towards a sofa upon which I knew he intended to take me to heaven and rob me of my wits. But that couldn’t happen so I shook myself free and headed for the stairs instead.
‘Where are you going?’ he said, capturing my wrist and drawing me so close that for the briefest of seconds I wondered what on earth I was thinking by intending to give up this crazy hot desire.
But it was precisely because of the ease with which he made me lose my reason, my control, that I needed to stick to the plan. So I pulled away, smoothed my dress, and from a safe distance said, ‘To my room.’
‘Why?’
‘I need to pack.’