‘Why would I tell you, when having you guess is more entertainment than I’ve had in years?’
He turned away again abruptly, reaching for the coffee and adding it to the bottom of the pot. She pleated the bedsheet with her fingers, contemplating that.
‘Since you’ve been on the island?’
He made a grunting sound that didn’t really answer her question.
‘Well, if you’re not a scientist, I’m at a loss. I can’t really fathom why anyone would come and live out here, in the middle of nowhere. I mean, it might be nice for a holiday, I suppose, if you wanted to completely disconnect.’
He poured two mugs of coffee—yet another sign that he did entertain here, occasionally, at least—and carried them to the bed. But rather than handing one to Genevieve, he placed both on his bedside table before sitting beside her, his large frame unsettling the mattress so she was drawn a little into the middle. Towards him. Their shoulders brushed and she startled. Nikos turned towards her, his face so close their eyes sparked, and she could see all the flecks of colour in his eyes—grey, silver, and some a golden amber.
‘Are you okay?’
His question caught her unawares, and seemed to tip her world even more to the side. ‘I—yes.’
‘After last night,’ he clarified.
She glanced down at the space between them, only there was no space. Just flesh. His glorious chest was right there, and the sight of it, the memories of him, made her heart pound in a way that was unsettling to the extreme.
She’d spent so much of her marriage lying. Or, rather, faking it. Pretending to be something she wasn’t, because she’d thought if she could play the part of the perfect wife, James might come back to her, and be like he had been in the beginning. She’d smothered her own discontent, she’d quietened her upset, in order to keep the peace with him.
But Nikos was a stranger, a man she didn’t intend to see again, once she left the island. So why hide the truth from him? What was the downside of honesty, when she didn’t actually care what he thought of her?
‘Why did you go and shower last night? Afterwards, I mean.’
Even as she asked the question, though, she was surprised by how forthright it was. And proud, too. Why shouldn’t she ask? As far as she was concerned, she had every right to wonder. It wasn’t exactly the done thing. At least, not according to movies and romance novels.
‘Did it offend you?’
She considered that. It had, but perhaps that had more to do with her past than his act. She lifted one shoulder in a half-shrug. She’d signed a non-disclosure agreement as part of her divorce. She wasn’t supposed to talk about James, or he’d stop paying off her mother’s medical debts. Worse, he’d do a tell-all interview about her father. While he was long gone, his political legacy lived on; she couldn’t be the reason it was tarnished. Despite those threats, was there any harm in talking tothisman, who had taken himself completely out of civilisation? What was the harm in being honest with him? Did she think he had some kind of hotline to one of the Washington papers? A gossip columnist on speed dial? The thought almost made her laugh out loud. Besides, he didn’t know her last name, and had zero idea who James was.
‘I’m probably too sensitive around this stuff,’ she said, eventually. ‘I—was recently divorced.’ The words were tinged with bitterness but she supposed, to other ears, it might sound like grief. She flicked a glance at his face, briefly, but his features were set in a mask that gave nothing away. ‘Coffee?’ she prompted, embarrassed, because she’d revealed something vital and important, and he hadn’t reacted.
He turned away from her, took hold of a mug and held it out. Genevieve tried to rearrange herself, to put space between them, but it just wasn’t possible in a bed this size, with a man this weight.
She resigned herself to the fact that their shoulders would brush as they sat there.
‘And you’re upset?’
So he wasn’t letting it go, then. She tilted her face to his. ‘I’m getting used to my new reality.’
‘Was it your idea, or his?’
‘Mine.’
He raised his brows. ‘You weren’t happy?’
She sipped her coffee, closing her eyes as the pleasure of that sip wrapped around her. The last thing she expected was his feather-light touch on her face, a single finger tracing the line of her jaw, before gently angling her chin towards him. ‘You were unhappy?’ he repeated, eyes tracing her face, so she felt completely exposed to him.
‘That’s generally the reason people seek divorces, isn’t it?’
A frown flickered across his features. ‘Not always.’
She sipped her coffee again, purely in an attempt to cut through the connection he was forging by asking her these questions, so close, staring down into her eyes. She didn’t want to feel a connection to this man, apart from, she supposed, the physical. She would never be stupid enough to put her happiness in the hands of a man again, even temporarily.
‘Well, it was for me,’ she said, crisply. ‘My marriage was a mistake. I realised within a few months.’
‘Yet you stayed.’
