“More,” I say as he moves faster, taking me to the very edge before I open my eyes, and the look on his face is so wicked, so delirious, so hot, I am finally, breathlessly, hopelessly undone.
Leo rolls off me and we both lie naked, sweaty, our hair still damp, our hearts racing, as the breeze drifts in through the window, cooling our skin. He reaches out, putting a hand on my stomach, his fingers fanning out and holding me in place.
“How long have I got?” he says.
“Until what?” I reply, putting my hand on his, threading our fingers, feeling the rise and fall of my breath start to slow.
“Until you worry,” he says, squeezing my hand.
I laugh, rolling onto my side and running my fingers down his chest, resting my hand on his rib cage.
“At least until sunrise,” I say.
25
IT ISN’T QUITEsunrise when I begin to worry.
His arm is across my stomach, and I try to lift it slowly without waking him. But he stirs.
“Bathroom,” I whisper.
“Come back to me,” he moans softly and rolls over.
My heart squeezes as I pull myself slowly up.
I find my bra on the floor and my bunched-up knickers near the window.
“Olive,” he says, sounding more awake. “Come here.”
“I need the—”
“You’re clearly sneaking off,” he says, laughing as he rolls over and holds his arm out toward me. I glance out his window and down to the pool area.
It looks a little like a crime scene where two people vanished. Piles of clothes sit outside where we cast them off. Two wineglasses, one toppled over. A wine bottle. The bag of half-eaten cherries has been mauled by something, leaving a bloodred stain on the stone.
I wanted this.
“Olive,” he says again, and I don’t resist, walking back over and climbing in next to him.
“Was this a terrible idea?”
“No. It was an excellent idea,” he says, kissing my shoulder, his featherlight touch disintegrating my thoughts.
“Why do I feel like it was?” I say quietly. In the stillness of the early morning I hear the first birds beginning to chirp and the threat of a new day, filled with time to panic.
Leo props himself up onto his elbow and pulls the light blanket over me, tucking me in. “So you can’t get away,” he says with a grin. Then he strokes the side of my cheek and says, “Talk to me.”
“Can you see how this complicates everything?”
“Yes,” he says, nodding.
“It must be the dumbest, most stupid idea in the world to get into business with someone with whom you are romantically entangled.”
“You’re thinking about the business seriously?” he says.
I nod. “I am. I have been. I’ve been so worried about getting your hopes up, though. There are a lot of hurdles. I’ve never run a restaurant. I couldn’t expect to walk in and be an open-heart surgeon just ’cause my dad was.”
“You’ll be fine,” he says. “I mean, you could do some courses while we plan. I do know quite a lot about how to run Nicky’s. I ran every area at some point. I just didn’t have the authority to change anything.”
