Chapter Thirteen

Nick knew the only way he could stick to his promise to keep his hands off Lizzie was to put some distance between them. A lot of distance. So he submerged himself in his work. It was a long way from how he’d hoped to be spending his remaining days with her, but he had enough stacked up to kid himself he needed to disappear off to London every day, and lock himself up in his study at night. He wasn’t hiding from Lizzie, of course. Just working really hard.

When they did occasionally bump into each other, he could almost convince himself things were back to where they had been before the kiss. Almost, because the awkwardness was still there. On both sides. It was one thing him knowing he wanted to make love to her. It was quite another her knowing that, too. But though she occasionally looked at him as if she was wondering what he was thinking, he ignored the unspoken question and kept all conversation bland and trivial.

On Sunday though, Nick couldn’t escape into London. Well, he could, but even he considered that one gutless step too far. Working yesterday had been sad enough. So instead of heading off in his car, he went for a run. Once the physical exercise, combined with the ice cold shower, ensured his hormones were under control, he ambled downstairs. The patio doors had been flung open and he spied Lizzie sitting on a lounger, enjoying the sunshine. Deliberately he went to join her.

‘Good morning.’ He pulled out a chair and sat down, casting a casual eye over the papers she was reading. It was better for him than looking at her legs, which were stretched out gloriously in front of her. Long, shapely, smooth. He dragged his eyes to her face. ‘What are you reading?’

‘Maria sent some stuff over for me to go through.’ She sighed deeply. ‘Potential projects, if I can ever get past this scandal.’

Nick frowned. ‘Do designers, or whoever you usually work for, really take any notice of that sort of gossip? I mean, any publicity is good publicity, right?’

‘I’m not sure that holds true with sex scandals. At least not when you’ve made your career from being a supposedly pure, angelic English rose.’ She smiled sadly. ‘Remember I told you I’d just signed to promote a perfume called Innocence? Well, they wriggled out of that contract pretty sharply. God knows what I’ll be considered to promote when this all blows over. I doubt they make fragrances called Whore or Hooker.’

‘Stop it.’ His voice was sharper than he’d intended, but it had the desired result. She shut up, gaping at him, clearly surprised he’d shouted. So was he, but he hated to think she had so little respect for herself.

‘Sorry.’ She bit into her lip and looked away.

In a flash he realised just how selfish he’d been over the last week. He’d brought her back to England to support her through this ordeal, then proceeded to bury himself in his work and avoid her. Some knight in shining armour he’d turned out to be.

‘No, I’m the one who’s sorry. Sorry I’ve not been around much this week. I’ve been working,’ he added lamely.

‘I didn’t expect you to be around all the time. You have your own life to live. And I really appreciate what you’ve done for me, truly.’

‘Forget it.’ She was far too kind to say it, but as her friend he could have done a heck of a lot more. ‘How do you fancy going out on the river today?’ he asked after a short while. ‘We could take a picnic. You could relax in the back with your shades and a good book, and I could put my macho captain’s hat on and steer?’

‘Macho captain’s hat, eh?’ Her delicious lips curved. ‘Now that I have to see. Have you got a boat then?’

‘Well, it’s not one of your celebrity style fancy yachts, but it does for messing about on the river round here.’ He stood and took her hand, pulling her up with him. ‘Come on, shipmate.’

The afternoon was heaven. Not least because Nick had come back to her. Gone was the diffident, elusive man Lizzie had shared a house with the last few days. Back was the friend of old. She glanced over at him, unable to resist a smile at his baseball cap, proudly sporting the word Captain. Given to him, so he claimed, by a friend. Had it been Sally?

The swift flare of jealousy was too painful to be ignored so she acknowledged it with a grimace but pushed it to one side. Nothing was going to ruin today for her. She glanced back at Nick, enjoying a quiet study of him while he wasn’t looking. What with his carelessly placed cap, casual polo shirt and dark sunglasses, he looked pretty cool – and, because he didn’t realise it, sexier than any of the models she’d ever worked with.

They stopped for a picnic, Nick surprising her by slipping out a bottle of champagne. It was almost surreal to be sitting by the riverbank on a blanket, sipping champagne and eating strawberries.

‘This setting couldn’t be more English,’ she murmured dreamily as she refilled her glass. How many was that now? Certainly enough to make her very aware of every inch of his long, lean body stretched out beside her.

‘Oh, I don’t know. We could do with a cricket match going on behind us. And perhaps a brass band playing.’ He lay his head down on the blanket and gazed up at the sky. ‘Do you ever miss England?’

‘No, not really,’ she replied honestly, glancing over at him as he turned his head to face her. She saw something flicker in his eyes but it was gone too fast for her to read it. ‘Of course there are some things I miss. Fish and chips, proper football, marmite on toast, queuing.’

He gave her a small smile, one that didn’t reach his eyes. ‘If that’s all you miss, it’s no wonder you haven’t been back since—’

‘The funeral,’ she finished for him. ‘I haven’t thought of it like that. To me it’s not the country you miss, but the people. With Robert and my parents no longer here—’

‘There wasn’t any reason to come back.’

This time he finished the sentence for her. And this time she recognised the look in his eyes. Hurt, plain and simple. ‘That’s not quite what I meant.’ And it wasn’t. If only he knew. ‘Of course, it would be great to come back and see you.’

Another smile that didn’t reach his eyes. ‘Sure.’ Immediately he started to clear away the picnic things.

Thoughtfully Lizzie got to her feet, the champagne sloshing around her bloodstream quite nicely. Her words had been ill-chosen, but his reaction to them seemed out of proportion.

She shot him another glance, but he avoided her eyes.

‘I’m bound to come to London with work at some point. When I do, I’ll give you a call. And with more notice than the day before,’ she told him pointedly, though she smiled to take some of the edge off her words.

He stiffened, then acknowledged her dig with a nod of his head. ‘Touche.’

They walked back to the boat in silence, but it wasn’t as comfortable as it had been before the picnic. Briefly she wished she hadn’t drunk so much. It was hard enough to read Nick when she was sober, but being mildly pissed made it almost impossible.

On the journey back down the river Nick cranked up the stereo, hoping the calm of the classical music would hide his lack of conversation. It was high time he learnt not to ask questions he didn’t want to know the answer to. What had he expected her to say? Yes, of course I miss England, because I really miss you. Furtively he glanced over his shoulder at her. Glass of champagne in her hand – she’d not wanted to waste it and he was driving them home so couldn’t drink any more – she was absorbed in her book. It gave him another chance to study her. She’d tied back her hair with a multi-coloured scarf and hidden both beneath a wide-brimmed straw hat. Large designer sunglasses hid most of her face. Despite this, it was impossible to hide her sex appeal. From the brim of her hat to the delicate sandals on her feet, she oozed a poise and glamour that other women simply didn’t have. She’d casually knotted her shirt at the waist, exposing a hint of tanned, flat stomach. Her shorts were pink and very … well, short.

He gritted his teeth and looked away. There was a limit to the number of long runs and cold showers a man could take. Spending all this time with her was slowly driving him crazy.

As he helped her off the boat, Lizzie swayed a little.

‘Oops, I think I might be the teeniest bit piddled.’

‘Piddled?’

‘You know, slightly sloshed. Not quite three sheets to the wind, but definitely two.’ She lost her footing and giggled. ‘Maybe two and a half.’

‘You’re a lightweight.’

She arched him a look. ‘No way. I could drink you under a table.’ Another laugh bubbled out of her. ‘Oh, that sounds a bit funny, doesn’t it? As if I can drink you, which I can’t. Well, not all of you. There are bits of you I could drink, maybe.’

‘We need to get you into the car,’ he interrupted quickly. Saints alive, his overactive imagination had no problem thinking of the bits of him she could drink. No problem at all.

Once he’d bundled her in, Lizzie turned on the radio and proceeded to sing every song the station played, whether she knew the words or not.

‘Come on. I shhhouldn’t sing alone,’ she slurred. ‘My voice is bad. Very bad.’

‘Mine is superb,’ he lied, ‘but I prefer to keep it under wraps. You know, British reserve and all that.’

Lizzie stuck out her tongue, turned the volume up even higher. And carried on singing.

When they arrived back at the barn, she was still raring to go. ‘Come on outside, Nick, and bring another bottle. I want to party.’

He took one look at her soft, slightly unfocussed blue eyes and knew he was heading for trouble. It didn’t stop him from pulling a bottle of white wine out of the fridge, grabbing two glasses and going to join her.

‘What a stupendous day,’ she said with a sigh, leaning back against the wooden steamer chair. Squeezing his arm, she winked at him, sending his blood pressure through the roof. ‘You know, it’s been lovely to spend time with you again. I missed you these last few days.’

‘Yes, well, as I already explained … I was busy.’

She laughed, the sound husky and deliciously sexy. ‘Come on, Nick. Wasn’t it you who told me I may be blonde, but I’m not dumb? You stayed away because you were embarrassed we kissed.’

He felt his face heat and belatedly realised there wasn’t enough alcohol in his system for this conversation. ‘That probably had something to do with it, yes,’ he admitted.

‘Such a shame.’ She let out a long, wistful sounding sigh. ‘But it’s probably just as well we stopped,’ she continued, running a finger lazily across the rim of her glass. It didn’t take much to imagine that finger running over his body. ‘Sex with me would have been a real let down.’

He almost choked on the large swallow of wine he’d taken. ‘Pardon?’

She shrugged, sipping at her own glass. Clearly drink made her gloriously, frighteningly, uninhibited. ‘I’ve never been any good at it. Sex, I mean.’

This time he couldn’t stop himself from spluttering.

She gave him a hard stare. ‘It’s not funny, you know.’

‘I’m not laughing, believe me.’ He took a deep breath, both to clear the wine from his lungs and to gather his wits. ‘What you’re saying is rubbish,’ he ventured finally. ‘It’s not a question of being good or not. Just whether you’re doing it with the right person.’ He cringed. ‘And I didn’t mean that as a come on.’

She giggled. ‘I know. I thought maybe after all that business with Charles I’d never want a man near me ever again, but, well … that kiss was pretty hot.’

His heart hammered wildly in his chest. ‘That’s good to know.’

‘Would it have got hotter? You know, if we’d carried on.’

Hell’s teeth. How was his heart not exploding? ‘I’ve not had any complaints so far.’

Somewhere in the back of Lizzie’s mind there was a voice telling her to shut up, but she was in too much of an alcohol induced high to listen. ‘I remember asking you to make love to me once. You turned me down.’

‘Of course I turned you down. You didn’t want me, just a willing male body.’

‘Why do you say that?’ Her fogged brain tried to grasp both what he’d said, and what he hadn’t.

‘It doesn’t matter.’

Even her pickled brain registered his closed off, I’m not discussing this, expression. ‘Most men wouldn’t have said no.’

‘I’m not most men.’

‘No, you’re certainly not.’ For a few heartbeats their eyes clashed. Unspoken emotions swirled in his and she regretted being so drunk she couldn’t fathom them. When he broke the connection, staring down at his hands, it only encouraged the devil in her to goad him more. ‘You’ll be pleased to know I did manage to find someone willing to … what’s the term they use? Debunk … oops, no, deflower me. Such a stupid phrase. I mean, it’s not like I was a pansy and he came along and pulled my head off.’ She giggled at her description. ‘Mind you, his technique wasn’t all that much better …’

Nick’s hand shot up. ‘Stop right there, please. This conversation has gone way beyond my comfort zone.’

‘Really?’ He was looking pretty uncomfortable, but she was on a roll. ‘So you’re not interested in who got the job you turned down?’ His face paled even further and even drunk Lizzie realised she’d gone too far. That was the trouble when a pissed extrovert tried talking to a sober introvert.

‘No, I’m not,’ he replied tightly, shooting up to his feet. ‘I don’t know about you, but I’m shattered. I’m off to bed.’

‘Is that an invitation?’ Oh God. Please, someone, stop her mouth coming out with words her mind hadn’t sanctioned.

‘You know it’s not.’

He looked so stiff and awkward, the drunk side of her wanted to giggle again. ‘Well, for the record, that’s the second time you’ve turned me down.’

Hands on hips, he raised his eyes heavenwards. When he finally lowered them again – he must have been counting to ten – his voice was slow and almost eerily calm. ‘Just to be clear. I’m not turning you down. We’re not having this conversation. You’re drunk and you don’t know what you’re saying.’

‘Maybe.’ She reached for her drink, the party girl in her not ready to stop. ‘Or maybe I still remember how hot it felt when you kissed me.’

She watched as Nick’s gaze travelled down from her eyes and rested on her lips. Automatically they parted, wanting to feel not just the heat of his gaze, but of his mouth, his tongue. His breath against her neck.

‘Exactly how drunk are you?’ he asked roughly, reaching to pull her to her feet.

‘A teeny bit.’ She started to sway and her fingers clutched at his arm, wrapping them round his hard bicep. Arousal rushed through her. ‘Oops, maybe a tiny bit more than a teeny bit, if you know what I mean.’

He didn’t reply, just stood watching her, a tight expression on his face. As her fingers pressed against his hot skin to feel the hard muscle of his arm, Nick’s eyes flared. Even she, a tiny bit more than a teeny bit drunk, recognised the heat she saw there.

‘You can kiss me again,’ she told him softly. ‘You know, if you want to.’

Her husky voice wrapped round his balls and tugged at them. How many years had he loved this woman? How many years had he wanted her? So why wasn’t he forgetting all his principles and sweeping her into his arms? Into his bed? He’d taken other women to bed on far less invitation.

He watched, spellbound, as she tucked a strand of silky blonde hair behind her ear, her tongue darting across her full bottom lip. Another bolt of desire shot through him.

‘Do you want me to?’ His voice was thick, his arousal an aching throb between his legs.

She seemed surprised at his question. ‘Of course.’

He bent his head, a heartbeat away from taking her up on her offer. From touching his mouth to those soft, inviting lips and plundering the sweet depths he knew he’d find behind them. But then instead of gazing at her eyes, he stared into them. Still large and blue, they were alarmingly unfocussed.

As if he’d stepped into an ice cold shower, sanity returned. She wasn’t a teeny bit drunk. She was out of her head drunk. If he took her to bed now, he’d be no better than that blasted son of a bitch, Charles. Worse, when she woke up in the morning, their friendship would be over.

So instead of kissing her until they both couldn’t stand, he clutched at the last dredges of his restraint and drew back, sliding his arm around her waist. ‘It’s time you were in bed. Come on.’

She didn’t complain when he almost hauled her up the stairs, but giggled every now and again when she lost her footing. When he stopped at her bed and gave her a slight shove, she collapsed onto it, smiling dreamily. He debated helping her undress, but there wasn’t a huge gap between clutching at restraint, and saying to hell with everything and just taking what he wanted.

‘Goodnight, Lizzie.’

He doubted she heard the words. She curled onto her side, closed her eyes and fell sound asleep.