My body felt hot. Between my legs pulsed and I knew that nothing I found on any porn channels would have the same effect as this even though it was just a kiss.
Just a kiss.
It slowed and deepened, me nibbling on his bottom lip before he took back control. It was demanding, playing and taking. He was an arse and an arrogant twat but right now I was prepared to deal with that.
Except I was on a no man kick.
I had come out here to check he was okay because if I hadn’t, that fucking journalist would’ve needed more than an aesthetician to inject Botox.
I don’t know who pulled back, but one of us did. We were left looking at each other, our mouths apart but our hands still touching each other.
I felt his warmth.
“I hope you don’t sell any of that to the highest bidder.” He stepped away as he said the words.
“You wouldn’t be worth my time.” I turned and walked away, a well-timed black cab arriving, a knight in shining armour. I didn’t want to be near him. He didn’t want to be near me. The hate between us felt palpable. The kiss was the worst thing I’d done.
I didn’t look back.
* * *
I was left by myself in the thermal pools. There were precious few minutes during a normal day when I’d have time to be alone with my thoughts, so this was bliss. A chance to check in with how I was actually feeling without the noise of other people.
Don’t get me wrong, I was sociable. I liked going out, enjoyed my friends’ company and found other people interesting, but I knew what it was to be on my own and take pleasure in it. My ex-husband had been my ex twice. We’d actually remarried at one point, albeit for just two months and for a technicality and after him I’d stupidly married someone I met three weeks before. It had been a huge case of lust at first sight, with every hormone and chemical driving me on, some poisonous fairy throwing confetti and unicorns in front of my eyes and blinding me into thinking that he was The One.
Luckily, after our wedding, witnessed by two people we found on the street because we thought it was romantic, he’d gone back to his job in Los Angeles and I’d never managed to find the courage to fly over there or to take the required time off work. We divorced amicably and still exchanged birthday and Christmas cards. He now had a wife and twin daughters.
I learned then that listening to yourself, even if all you had to say was silence, was never given enough credit.
Today I felt rather than heard. The cool air above me, the warmth of the water, the slight scent of the water. My shoulders were light and I had the luxury of not having to rush anywhere or commit to anything. Victoria, Vanessa and the rest of the hen party were heading out on a tour of the air by helicopter, before returning for an afternoon tea and cocktail making session. The helicopter tour had been a straight forward decision – no one had expected me to go – and I was more than happy to spend more time in the spa at the hotel.
This was my treat.
A wave rippled towards me, its lap forcing me to open my eyes.
Broad shoulders, dark hair, a shoulder with an intricate tattoo. Hazel eyes with flecks of emeralds.
My silence was shattered.
Neither of us spoke, which wasn’t spa etiquette. An acknowledgement of someone sharing your space was generally expected, not this complete blocking. From both of us.
Neither of us moved either. It was like we were pretending that the other didn’t exist.
“How long are you staying here for?” I broke first. I couldn’t not fracture the silent animosity between us.
“Another month. Maybe longer.” He didn’t look at me as I spoke, just moved so that his chest was uncovered by the water.
For a moment I was taken back to the night at the restaurant, when he’d pressed his mouth to mine and I’d enjoyed it. A lot. But that didn’t matter. Liam Rosehill was a dick.
We went back to silence other than the sound of the water, but the atmosphere between us was thick.
“When do you leave?”
I looked at him, refusing to put my gaze in anything but his eyes. “I’m not sure. I have business over here so I may stay longer depending on how things work out.” It was a civil answer that should’ve reminded him of exactly who I was, and it was not a fan.
“Good luck with it all.”
It was a conversation ending even though the conversation had never truly gotten going. I expected him to get out of the pool and leave me to it, but he didn’t. He stayed there, looking at anything but me, equally stubborn.
