Was that just because of her hostility towards him, or…?
Another truth hit him square on.
Or because I did not hide that I could not tear my eyes from her in that swimsuit she looked so fantastic in?
And if that were so…
Inexorable logic bore him forward.
There could be only two reasons she didn’t want him making clear to her how her beauty wowed him still, didn’t want his attention on her in that way.
Either I repulse her in that way now, or it’s the very opposite.
His gaze rested on her now forensically. Everything falling into place like a perfect explanation, an irrefutable Aristotelian syllogism of the kind he’d learnt in school.
She is susceptible to me still. And she knows it. But is trying to hide it.
That was it, he was sure of it. Laurel was deliberately playing down her looks because she knew she was still drawn to him, the way she’d been in Greece from the very first.
And as for himself—
More truth slammed into him.
I am just the same. Just as susceptible.
Except for one crucial difference.
I acknowledge it. She denies it.
He resumed walking towards them, the words echoing in his head. He’d pay attention to them later. Decide what to do about them. Right now, though, he had something to tell Dan.
“The hotel,” he announced, “is having a Grand Jamboree on Easter Saturday, and I’ve booked us in.” He looked down at Dan. “There’ll be an Easter egg hunt, organised games, pony rides, a carousel, a puppet theatre, a magician, sideshows, barbecue, the lot!”
“Wow!” said Dan, eyes widening.
“Wow, indeed,” agreed Xander. He glanced at Laurel, hoping she would think so too.
She did. “It sounds great fun,” she said. “Thank you.” Her eyes went briefly to Xander. Very briefly. Self-consciously.
But now he knew why.
And as he guided them out to his car to drive them home, he knew something else. Something that was making itself felt that he couldn’t—wouldn’t—shoot down.
He wasn’t going to fight it any longer. This constant awareness of her, the repeated kicks he got when his eyes went to her, however little she deliberately—as he now realised—made of herself.
Because there was no point fighting it.
It’s there, it exists—as powerfully as it did from the very first.
And it wouldn’t be repressed or ignored or denied. Or defeated.
So he was going to stop trying. Do, instead, the very opposite. Let it run. A sense of new certainty was filling him, born, he knew, out of his new understanding about just why she was being so obstinate about sticking to her dowdy, dreary appearance. After all the hostility, all the eggshelling, all the determinedly careful politeness to each other, something else was happening between them. Growing inexorably.
And he welcomed it completely.
Having showered after his pool session, and eaten his fill at the lavish late-afternoon tea, Dan needed no bath that evening, or supper other than a milky drink and fruit while he watched some TV before Laurel got him up to bed. Xander hadn’t stayed, and she was relieved. This endless disturbing awareness of him was getting worse. Thank goodness there was only Easter to get through, then she’d have a reprieve from it.
The jamboree sounded good, she had to admit, and Dan was definitely keen, murmuring his anticipation as he fell asleep. Laurel kissed his cheek and headed downstairs. She made herself a cup of tea and went into the sitting room, settled herself down on a sofa. Since her father’s death she had become very used to spending the evenings alone, Dan asleep upstairs. She’d used the time to do her online tutoring when it was term time. But with the school holidays and Xander’s tumultuous eruption into her life, she had let it drop for the time being.
