Myles doesn’t say anything, but his dark brows come together for a moment. I have the feeling I’ve somehow annoyed him. Familiar ground.
Feeling more myself again, I pick up my own bag. “I have my mobile if you need me,” I say. Then I go down the stairs to my room, opening the door and going inside as quickly as I can, not looking back.
I still feel as though he’s watching me, though.
Myles
I blow out a breath as I watch Zara head down the stairs, her hair, still in that damn ponytail, swinging. I’m irritated, an ache in my chest. This is one of my favourite places to stay on the planet, so I really shouldn’t be annoyed about anything, and that pisses me off even more.
But how the hell am I meant to get through this trip with Zara? Thank Christ she cancelled that dinner reservation, even though that’s made me unreasonably angry as well. Did she not want to eat with me? Did she think I didn’t want to eat with her? I need to set her straight about what I expect of her on this trip.
It’s difficult to do that, though, when I’m not even sure myself. What the hell was I thinking, bringing her here? Her presence sits like a thorn in my skin, an exquisite pain that I don’t want to end. Yet at the same time, driving here with her felt as easy as though we’d known each other for years, as though we were on holiday together rather than a business trip. I’d enjoyed pointing out landmarks, watching the wind tangle her hair, the smile on her face as she breathed in the sights and sounds of Morocco. I want to show her everything, want to make her smile again, just to see that damn dimple.
I know something’s going on with her. I’ve been through heartbreak myself, so I recognise it in others.
But there’s a line between us and I can’t cross it. I’m her boss. She’s my employee. It doesn’t stop me worrying about her, though. I pick up my bags, unlock the door to my room and head inside. It’s calm and cool and, just as Zara said, seems to be stocked with everything I could want. I drop my bags and head out onto the large terrace, looking out at the surf. It’s breaking, perfect curling lines of white moving across the blue. There are a few surfers out there already, sleek dark shapes against the water. I lean my elbows on the railing and watch them, relaxation stealing over me. When I started my business, all those years ago, Morocco was a dream destination. When I could first afford to come here, I could hardly believe my luck. Now I can visit whenever Iwant. But when I do, when I’m on the coast, I live as though I’m Myles again, a surfer who just wants to experience the world.
A noise comes from below and I go to the side railing and look down. There’s a wooden privacy screen shading each of the main terraces attached to the apartments, but they also have an additional smaller balcony to the side, off the bedroom.
Zara is on her balcony. She’s changed her clothes and is now wearing a long red dress that reveals her smooth shoulders, a hint of cleavage. I watch her as though hypnotised as she leans on the railing, gazing out to sea just like I’ve been doing. The soft fabric of the dress clings to her, revealing her curves.
On second thought, perhaps it’s a good thing she’s cancelled that dinner reservation. I wrench my gaze from her with an effort, staring out to sea once more. Those waves are too good to pass up, and some cold water is probably just what I need right now. I dig my wetsuit out of my bag and start to strip off.
ChapterThirteen
Zara
Ican’t believe I’m here.
My apartment is spacious and simply furnished, the tiled floors cool beneath my feet. I kick off my sandals the minute I walk in the door, and wander barefoot through therooms. There’s a large bathroom with a separate shower and bath, all tiled, and two bedrooms, both with double beds made up with spotless white linen. There’s also a huge open-plan kitchen, living and dining area, the cupboards and fridge already well stocked with food. It’s five times the size of my single room at home and, after hanging up my small wardrobe in the main closet, I fall back on one of the double beds, sinking into the soft quilt with my arms spread, laughing up at the ceiling. I wish I had someone to share this with.
My laughter dies away. Fucking Dean. My throat tightens, tears threatening, as his betrayal rolls over me again. I should be here with someone who loves me, who thinks I’m as special as I think they are. I should have had that, all along. But I never did. How stupid I was, blinded by love, letting him string me along like a fool. Eloise warned me, even Georgia seemed dubious. Eloise had asked me if I was really in love with him. And, the more I think about it, the more I’m not sure. It feels like infatuation, like I was in love with the idea of being loved, the promise of building a home with someone. We barely knew each other, after all.
Loneliness lies heavy in my stomach, an aching weight. I roll onto my side, curling up around it. I’m definitely not falling that fast again. Eloise was right. What I need is a fling, something mindless and fun, no hearts involved. I’m in Morocco, and I’m going to make the most of it. Screw Dean.
I get up, slip out of my skirt and T-shirt and look for something cooler to wear. It’s warm outside, a wonderful shock to the system after the cold and damp of London. I settle on the red dress, letting the soft folds fall around my legs, adjusting the ties at the shoulders. There are sliding doors with tall shutters in the bedroom, and I push them open and step out onto the small square balcony. There’s a sun lounger and a small table, plus a rack for drying swimwear. And the most spectacular view.
Below me is the pool area and small garden, as well as a terraced BBQ section with shaded seating upholstered in colourful striped fabric. A few people are down there already, drinking beers and relaxing in the sunshine, or getting up to cheer what I’m guessing is a particularly good surfer on the waves beyond. It’s a completely different world and I watch them for a moment, taken by how carefree they seem.
My gaze moves beyond, to the pale crescent of sand next to our rocky promontory. Waves roll into shore, breaking into white foam, dashing themselves against the dramatically sculpted cliffs. The road we came in on continues above, curving into the distance, the occasional car going past. A pathway set into the base of the cliff leads to what looks like a small campfire area on the beach, bounded by stones. And beyond it is the sea, shifting and changing, stretching to the horizon. It’s gorgeous and ridiculous and again that sense of unreality comes over me, as though I’m in a dream. A burst of laughter and cheering comes up from the BBQ area and I decide, on a moment of impulse, to go down and join them. Myles told me to go and relax, so I’m just doing what he asked.
But as I’m putting on my sandals there’s a knock at the door. I tense. Oh God. Is it Myles? I smooth back my hair, hastily rewrapping the elastic band around it, and adjust my dress so it doesn’t sit as low. Then I open the door.
A plump middle-aged woman, her dark hair partially covered by a veil, is standing there. “Hello,” she says, smiling. “I’m Amira, the housekeeper. May I check that you have all you need in your room?”
“Of course.” I open the door wider so she can come in. “But honestly, it’s lovely. I have everything I need.”
She bustles in, taking a look around, opening a cupboard I hadn’t noticed to reveal piles of white towels and some extra pillows. She turns, her hands clasped under her bust, and nods, smiling. “Here is the internet,” she says, going over to the TV. A modem is plugged in and she turns it over, showing me the password. I realise with a shock I hadn’t even considered it. Myles is still getting emails, and I’m still supposed to be working. I should at least let the office know we’ve arrived safely, plus check all the details for his meetings again, even though I know them off by heart. I pull my laptop out, set it up and sign in.
Amira nods again, heading for the door. “Anything you need, ask for me,” she says. “I wish you a lovely stay.”
“I will, thank you so much,” I say, following her to the door. Bright sunshine spills in, pooling on the floor, warming my feet. The air smells of salt and flowers. I glance back at my laptop, then down the stairs to the glimmering pool.
Screw it. I work hard. Myles’s emails can wait. I want to explore.
* * *
A short while later I’m sitting in the terraced BBQ area, a cold drink in my hand. The group of people I spotted from the balcony are still there, but I’m too shy to approach them. I order a drink from the smiling bartender, then sit where I can watch the waves and the surfers curling in and out of the rolling foam. It seems like a lot of work for a short payoff, I think, as I watch them paddle out on their boards, diving beneath breaking waves and emerging on the other side until they reach the perfect spot to catch a wave. Iwatch for a little while, the cycle repeating itself over and over.
