Chapter Sixteen

The journey to Sardinia had been blissfully uneventful, no doubt because Lizzie had booked them on a private plane. At first it had rankled with Nick, a painful reminder of their different lifestyles. After a few glasses of champagne though, he’d decided to ditch his pride and enjoy the ride. It was her money, after all.

She hadn’t told him the name of the friend who’d loaned her the use of the villa, and he’d been careful not to ask. As he gazed now at the magnificent five-bedroom whitewashed property, overlooking a private beach, it didn’t take a genius to figure out whoever she was, she was loaded. Loaded and with superb taste. It wasn’t going to be a hardship spending a few days here, especially as he got to see Lizzie looking so happy. And in a bikini.

Almost the moment they’d arrived, Lizzie had shrugged into the tiny black number and dived into the pool, leaving her suitcase untouched. He, on the other hand, had carefully unpacked all his things and placed them into drawers, which pretty much summed up how different they were. One spontaneous, the other methodical. He tried to tell himself that methodical, or practical, as he preferred to think, didn’t automatically translate into boring.

They’d chosen to spend the balmy late afternoon sitting by the pool, looking out over the sea. It was idyllic, certainly. Or, it would be, if he weren’t so uncomfortably aware of the person sitting beside him. A quick glance in her direction confirmed she still had her nose in a trashy novel, so once again he played with fire and allowed his eyes to hover hungrily over her. Three small triangles of black and a couple of bits of string were all that prevented him from seeing her full naked beauty. He’d heard it said blondes looked good in black. He wasn’t going to argue.

She stretched and he stifled a groan, totally unable to stop staring at her. She wasn’t as skinny as some models. More toned than bony, with curves that definitely went in and out in all the right places. Smooth and lightly tanned, her legs went on forever, but her waist was tiny. He reckoned he could probably circle it with both of his hands. And after he’d done that, he’d stroke his fingers lazily across her soft skin. The colour of caramel, it looked good enough to run his tongue along.

Abruptly he jumped up from the lounger. ‘I’m going to fetch a drink,’ he announced, his voice sounding alarmingly rough. ‘Do you want anything?’

Tipping her sunglasses onto the top of her head, she smiled, clearly oblivious to the havoc she was causing him. She was so damned beautiful it almost hurt to look at her. ‘If you can find some, a gin and tonic would go down a treat. But go easy on the gin. I don’t want another hangover like the last one.’

Nodding, he escaped quickly into the cool of the villa. How in God’s name was he going to get through the next few days with her wearing nothing but that itsy bitsy bikini? He’d barely coped living with her in England, but at least then she’d been wearing clothes.

With a deep sigh he found two glasses and poured enough gin into his to hopefully take the edge off his lust. After adding a splash of tonic, ice and a slice of lemon, he took a hefty swig from his glass before joining her outside again. Perhaps he would become immune to the sight of her in a day or two.

Either that or he’d turn into an alcoholic.

Warily he settled back into his recliner, carefully placing the drinks on the small table between them. Lizzie smiled her thanks and leant forward to take a sip, giving him an eyeful of glorious cleavage. Hastily he reached for his own drink. Become immune to her? Yeah, right. It hadn’t happened in the last eight years or so, it was hardly going to start on a ruddy beach holiday.

He sought refuge in his reading. And another mouthful of gin.

‘Why don’t you take your shirt off, Nick?’ Lizzie asked him after a while, eyeing him over the top of her sunglasses. A hint of a smile on her lips.

‘Because I’m English.’ He looked down at his unremarkable blue T-shirt. Admittedly it was hot, but there was no way he was going to strip off in front of a woman who made a living out of posing with male models. And whose list of past lovers included a hot-shot baseball star and several muscle bound actors.

She grinned. ‘Come on, England hasn’t changed that much over the last few years. I’ve seen Englishmen taking their shirts off on the beach lots of times. Admittedly it’s usually the ones with the large pot belly.’ She prodded his stomach. ‘You’ve not got one of those, have you?’

His body twitched at what had been only the lightest touch of her fingers. Nervously he crossed his legs. ‘No.’

‘So, what’s stopping you?’

‘Maybe I don’t want to get burnt.’

‘Or maybe you’re shy?’

Now she was teasing him. ‘Maybe I am.’ It was easier to agree.

She let out an exasperated hiss. ‘For goodness sake, Nick. I’m sitting by your side in next to nothing. In fact, as you’ve seen the photographs of me in the papers recently, you’ve already seen me in absolutely nothing. The least you can do is strip down, too. You’re making me feel uncomfortable.’

He sighed and yanked off his shirt. ‘There. Happy?’ He stuck his nose back into the report he was reading before he had the chance to catch the amusement on her face.

Lizzie slid him a sideways glance. He looked so adorable, all stiff and awkward without his T-shirt. In Los Angeles men took their shirts off at the drop of a hat, only too ready to impress the ladies with their rippling, tanned physiques. Sure, Nick’s chest could do with a bit of sun, but it was hard and well defined. The lean muscles of an athlete, rather than the heavy muscles of a bodybuilder.

‘All you need now is a hankie on your head,’ she remarked lightly.

He snorted. ‘I said I was English, not an English stereotype.’ Threading a hand through his thick dark hair, he smiled smugly. ‘Look, no bald patch. I believe that’s why they put the hankie on the head. To prevent a burnt scalp.’

Because he looked so adorable, and because she ached to kiss his dimpled smile off his face, Lizzie had to turn away. She tried to concentrate on her book again, but it was impossible with Nick sitting next to her, his chest muscles glinting in the sun. A sexy trail of dark hair running down from his navel and disappearing into his plain black trunks.

‘I’m heading in for another drink. Do you want one?’

He looked surprised. ‘I thought you didn’t want a hangover?’

‘What, after two weak gins? I’m hardier than that. Besides,’ she nodded in the direction of the view, ‘it’s sinful to sit here and not drink a G&T.’

He laughed and her insides somersaulted. Heaven help her, it wasn’t the weak gin making her feel all fluttery. It was him.

As she made the drinks, she acknowledged what she’d known for years. Nick was special, and she was falling for him, hard. Was she deluding herself to think he felt the same way? She didn’t think so. That look he’d given her by the pool sure as heck hadn’t come from the eyes of a friend or a brother. Catherine’s bikini test had been right.

But even if he did feel the same way, was she right to encourage it? He was the closest thing she had to family left in the world. More than that, these last two weeks had shown her he was the most important person in her life, full stop. Was it worth risking losing him for a holiday fling? Because there would be no happy ever after, not for them. A long distance relationship, carried out under the curse of the media spotlight? She couldn’t see Nick enjoying either. When he settled down, it wasn’t going to be with a needy, limelight grabbing model with a sordid sexual past. No, it would be with someone like himself: smart, unselfish and self-reliant. Suddenly she thought of Sally again. A partner at his firm, so he’d said. A woman who appeared unclingy, secure enough to let him lead his own life independently from hers. Yet there when he needed her.

Shoving the gin bottle down with more force than necessary, Lizzie clutched the glasses and strode back outside.

‘What does Sally think of you coming away with me?’ she asked as she sat back down beside him.

He gave her a sharp look. ‘I’ve told you already—’

‘You aren’t serious, aren’t an item, just use each other for sex, blah, blah.’ His eyes narrowed and she realised the gin was making her tongue loose. ‘Sorry. I just don’t want to be the cause of any problems between you.’

His jaw tightened. ‘You think I’d have kissed you like I did the other evening if there was anything remotely serious going on between me and Sally?’

Of course he wouldn’t have. Nick was as honest, as straight, as decent as they came. ‘You’re right. Forget I said anything. It’s none of my business.’

If anything, his face tightened further. ‘We’re friends. It is your business. But you don’t need to worry about upsetting her. Our …’ He hesitated, as if unsure of the right words. ‘Our agreement is over.’

Nick cringed, and the look of bemusement on Lizzie’s face racked his embarrassment up a further notch. Had he seriously called his ‘thing’ with Sally an agreement? It sounded like a bloody business transaction.

‘I’m sure she’d be delighted to hear your description,’ Lizzie murmured, her eyes alive with amusement. There was something else there, too. Was he deluding himself to think it was relief? Maybe even delight?

‘Piss off,’ he muttered back at her and she laughed, a rich, spontaneous, joyful noise that wrenched all the angst out of him. He was left feeling only pleasure at how happy she looked.

And a deep, aching, pulsing lust at how damn gorgeous she looked.

‘I’m going inside for a bit,’ he announced, standing quickly, something he regretted instantly as the combination of alcohol and sun nearly unbalanced him.

‘Whoa, steady there.’ Giggling, she stood and clutched at his arm.

He looked down at her hand. ‘Is that to help steady me or you?’

She bit at the underside of her lip. ‘A little of both. I should go in, too. I don’t want to get sunstroke on our first day. Do you want to see if there’s a movie on?’

A film? Awkwardly he moved away from her grip. He’d just spent two hours next to her in a bikini. Now she expected him to spend two hours curled up beside her on a sofa? God help him, he didn’t have that sort of control. ‘Lizzie, I need to work. You might be on holiday, but I’m not.’ Desperation made his words far too sharp, and she flinched.

‘Fine. Maybe I’ll see you later.’ She slumped back onto the lounger and pretended to read.

‘It’s upside down.’

She frowned, followed the direction of his eyes, and, huffing, spun the book the right way up.

Sighing, he shrugged on his T-shirt. ‘Look, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to snap.’ He picked up his papers and empty glass. ‘I’ll be done in a couple of hours. How about I cook us a meal?’ Her eyes remained firmly in her book. ‘Peace offering?’

‘I’d rather stay mad at you.’

‘Prawn linguine?’ He knew Catherine’s fridge held all the ingredients – it had been thoughtfully stocked by a local couple who looked after the place for her.

Her lips twitched. ‘Okay. And I guess I should apologise, too. I know you’ve got to work. How about I set the table? We can sit out on the terrace. Enjoy the view while we can.’

Nodding, Nick wandered back inside the villa. He might have managed to escape bikini clad Lizzie for a few hours, but he wasn’t sure Lizzie on the terrace in the moonlight was going to be any easier to resist.

A few hours later Nick studied Lizzie against the backdrop of the night sky as they ate on the terrace overlooking the bay. Just as the moon cast a soft glow on the calm sea below them, so Lizzie’s beauty seemed to have a luminescent quality about it. It made it hard to breathe, hard to swallow. He felt like a man who’d gone twenty rounds with Muhammad Ali and didn’t have the energy for another bout. For years he’d fought his attraction to her, bitten his tongue and kept his feelings to himself. But after two weeks of being with her almost 24/7, sharing his home with her, sharing meals with her – now under a star-filled sky, for crying out loud – he simply couldn’t handle it any longer. The mental and physical exhaustion of keeping his feelings to himself now outweighed the risk of humiliation and loss of her friendship. He wanted, no he needed, more.

Please God, let him not make a total arse of himself.

As she finished her meal, he reached across the table and clasped her hand. When she looked up, startled, he tightened his grip. ‘I was wondering, what’s the etiquette for finding out if a friend wants to become a lover?’

She flushed. As she slowly put down the glass she’d just picked up, her eyes evaded his, and his heart froze. He’d got it spectacularly wrong. She didn’t think of him that way at all, of course she didn’t. What had he been thinking? And now he’d embarrassed the hell out of both of them. Scalded, he quickly withdrew his hand. ‘Shit, sorry. I must have had too much to drink. Forget I said that.’

Finally she looked at him, blue eyes large in the moonlight. ‘I have to admit, I’ve never had a chat up line quite like that before.’

She was laughing at him. The one thing he’d been certain she’d never do. What a bloody fool he was. ‘Yeah, well, they don’t call me Smooth Nick for nothing.’ He drew back his chair, uncaring that it scraped against the marble tiles. He was desperate to escape, to go and lick his wounds somewhere dark and private. ‘If you’ll excuse me, I need to …’ He couldn’t even think of a reasonable excuse. His mind was too full of humiliation and crashing dreams.

Livid with herself, Lizzie flung her hand across Nick’s arm, stopping him in his tracks. She often resorted to humour when she felt uncertain or scared, and right now she was definitely scared. But that was no excuse. Making a crass joke when Nick was putting his pride on the line was unforgivable. ‘Please, slow down,’ she whispered. ‘I’m sorry. You took me by surprise.’

‘I find that hard to believe.’ His jaw was so tense she was afraid it might snap.

‘Why? Twice I’ve propositioned you, and twice you’ve turned me down.’

‘Twice when you were drunk.’

She took hold of his hand, gently prising apart the rigidly held fingers. ‘Well, I’m not drunk now. Why don’t you ask me to dance? Perhaps then you can find the answer to your question.’

He hesitated, searching her eyes. She hoped he could read her plea. Please don’t let my stupid joke put you off.

‘Okay,’ he said finally, and as her shoulders sagged in relief, her heart started a little jig. ‘But there’s a fundamental flaw in your plan.’

Her breath caught. ‘Oh?’

‘You seem to have forgotten, I can’t dance to save my life.’ Relief washed through her for the second time as he helped her to her feet. ‘Perhaps we can sway to the non-existent music.’

‘Swaying sounds wonderful.’ Her heart felt like it had wings as she moved into his arms.