‘So you don’t want to talk about him?’ he heard himself say.
They could both still touch the sand but the water was past their waists.
‘No, I don’t.’
She looked away from him but he caught her face in his hand.
‘Why not?’
‘Because... You know why, Leandro...’
‘Because you don’t want to be reminded that I’m your dirty little secret?’
‘No!’
‘What would you say if I told you that that’s how I feel?’
‘I wouldn’t believe you.’ Her heart was beating wildly. ‘I mean, we both know that this is just a temporary thing...’ And yet why did she wince when she uttered those words which were nothing less than the truth?
Their eyes tangled and he released her. ‘Swim back to shore, Emily. I need to head out further.’
‘Okay.’
Leandro scowled. She was desperate to get rid of him—desperate to avoid any conversation that might compromise her sense of morality, which was kept conveniently under wraps while she slept with him here but which would, without a shadow of doubt, regain the high ground the second the plane touched down at Heathrow in a matter of a few scant days.
He struck out with the restless feeling that their conversation was not over, and when he finally turned around to head back to the beach, after twenty minutes of vigorous swimming, he had come to the decision that he wasn’t going to let it rest.
It irked him further to find that she was in her swimsuit waiting for him, sunglasses in place, hat on, book in hand.
‘I thought we could have some lunch now.’ Emily licked her lips nervously and laid the book down on the towel next to her.
‘Is that why you decided to don the swimsuit?’ Leandro reached for his towel, roughly dried himself and then slung the towel loosely round his waist. ‘Because you thought that it was time for lunch?’
He sat down, positioning himself neatly in front of the cooler so that she couldn’t busy herself taking food out and pouring drinks when they still had a conversation to finish.
‘We only have a couple more days left here,’ he said.
‘I know.’ Emily resigned herself to a conversation she wasn’t sure she wanted. ‘I think we’ve accomplished everything that we...er...set out to do.’
‘I’m surprised you still include yourself in this project when you’ll be quitting pretty much as soon as we return to London.’
‘I said that I’d stay to effect a hand-over with my replacement and I will.’
Leandro ignored her pedestrian foray into a discussion about work. He wasn’t in the mood.
Instead he looked at her in silence for such a long time that she eventually broke eye contact and stared out to sea.
‘So, are we going to talk about what’s happening between us?’
Leandro’s body language mirrored hers, but he was one hundred per cent focused on her, even though he, too, was staring out to sea. He could feel her next to him and was alert to every shift in her position. He was aware of her tension, and of her reluctance to be drawn into talking about what he intended to talk about.
Emily shrugged and he fought down a wave of intense irritation. For some reason he was on the back foot and it annoyed the hell out of him. When it came to women it was not in him to pursue. But this felt like pursuit. He told himself that of course it wasn’t. It was the purely understandable reaction of a man facing the demise of a sexual relationship which he knew neither he nor his lover really wanted to end. He wasn’t chasing. He was expressing a natural curiosity as to what happened next.
‘I don’t see the point,’ she mumbled at last.
He turned to her, and although he was perfectly still there was a savage intensity to his voice that made her stiffen.
‘Can you honestly tell me that you want what we have to end when we return to London?’
‘It doesn’t matter whether I want it to end or not.’
‘I want you to look at me when I’m talking to you.’
Emily reluctantly shifted so that she was facing him.
‘And I want to see your eyes.’
He reached across and whipped off her sunglasses so that she immediately felt vulnerable and unprotected.
More than anything else she wished that he would just drop this—wished that they could return to the physicality that was as addictive as a drug. She didn’t want to think about whether she wanted this to continue or not when they returned to London because as far as she was concerned there was no option. It would have to end—like it or not. For reasons that were not in her control.
‘So talk to me,’ he commanded roughly. ‘Tell me how it is that you can square this with your conscience—marry another man when you still burn for me.’
‘I...’
‘Yes?’
‘I told you... I’m not romantic like...like all those other women you’ve gone out with...’
‘I get it. You had a bloody awful learning curve when you were young. But don’t tell me that you would sacrifice your life on the back of that.’
‘I wouldn’t be sacrificing my life, Leandro.’
‘You would be making a foolish choice, and once that choice has been made you will find yourself nailed to it and unable to break free if you should ever want to.’
‘There is such a thing as divorce...’
‘I don’t believe I’m hearing this.’
‘And I don’t believe that we’re having this conversation!’ Emily cried. ‘You should be thankful that I’m not one of those clingy women who wants to latch onto you and never let go! You should be glad that you don’t have to deal with mopping up my tears because you want to get rid of me and I won’t let you!’
‘I should be, shouldn’t I...? And yet all I can do is feel pity for a woman who’s about to commit herself to a loveless marriage, for reasons best known to her, with the opt out clause of divorce if it proves to be the disaster it undoubtedly will...’
He swivelled round and began offloading the cooler, but his appetite was non-existent.
‘I knew you would think less of me if we became...became...if we slept together!’
‘You’re right. I have no admiration for what you’re doing.’
‘There’s a lot you don’t know.’
‘Then why don’t you try telling me?’
Silence thickened between them.
‘Oh, I see. None of my business.’
‘What do you want from me?’
‘Honest answer?’ He paused and looked her directly in the eye. ‘I want you to have the courage to admit that it would be a mistake to marry a man when you’re clearly hot for another one.’
‘It’s not all about sex.’
‘You want me. That’s not going to go away when we return to London and you step back into your prim little work suits...’
‘That’s what this is all about, isn’t it?’ Agitated, Emily sprang to her feet and spun round to stare down at him. ‘You’re not ready for this to end because you always dictate the terms of your relationships, don’t you?’
‘That’s not what this is about!’ But Leandro had the grace to flush darkly.
‘Of course it is!’ She began walking towards the sea but then, as though compelled, she turned back to glare at him, her arms folded, her body rigid with tension.
This was not a place meant for arguing. It was too breathtakingly beautiful. And she didn’t want to argue. In fact she didn’t even want to think about the fact that Paradise would only be theirs for a few more short days.
‘You go out with women and when you tire of them you move on. You’re annoyed because you’re not ready to move on quite yet!’
‘I’m frustrated because I see a woman on the verge of
throwing her life away...’
‘And, like any decent knight in shining armour, you want to save me from my fate? Is that it? You just want to set me on the right path? You’re being one hundred per cent altruistic with no hidden agenda at all...?’
‘My agenda is anything but hidden,’ Leandro drawled, and the hot intensity of his dark eyes made the blood rush to her face. ‘Can you honestly tell me that you want this to end the second we step foot on British soil? Can you honestly tell me that that’s even possible?’
‘Of course it is. We’re just having a... This is just a...a...dalliance...’
Leandro looked at her in silence for a long time. Finally he shrugged. ‘So be it.’
He began unpacking the picnic hamper, laying things out on the rug which had been provided by the hotel. As always, they had prepared a feast. There was chilled wine, but after a brief hesitation he ignored that and went for the bottled water instead.
‘So be it?’
The conversation felt as though it had been killed off ahead of schedule. Was that it? A shrug of the shoulders and onward bound?
‘I think it’s time we ate, and then we’ll head back to the island.’
He tucked into one of the sandwiches and poured himself some water. He wasn’t looking at her, but out of the corner of his eye he could see her wary stance, the tense set of her shoulders, the stubborn line of her full mouth.
‘Sure.’
‘And you can consider your contract with my company terminated as from the second we get back to the UK.’
‘What—what are you talking about?’ Emily stammered. She sat down on the rug, legs crossed, and stared at the array of food—none of which she felt like eating.
‘I’m saying that there will be no need for you to work out the remainder of your notice. You will be free to go as soon as we are off this island. And for the rest of the time that we’re here we’ll focus exclusively on what we came here to do. Work.’
‘And all this just because I won’t do as you say?’
When she stared at the sandwiches and fruit laid out in front of her she saw instead a progression of empty, Leandro-less days stretching out as far as the eye could see.
She blinked the disturbing vision away. She was set on a certain course and there was no getting off it. And it would be great not having to work out her notice. Wouldn’t it? She would be free to get on with the rest of her life, putting in place the necessary things that had to be done...
‘We can... I realise you don’t understand why I’m doing what I’m doing, why I’m going ahead with... Well, things are never neatly explained away...’ She heard herself fumbling with her words, tripping over excuses she couldn’t give him, and she flushed at the cynical twist of his mouth.
‘I mean...’ She reached out, dry-mouthed, and placed her hand on his.
A world without Leandro felt, right now and right here, like a very bleak and empty world. But she knew that that wouldn’t last. She was caught up in a bubble where normal reactions and day-to-day reality were suspended. The second she was back on home ground what she felt would vanish like mist on a summer’s day, but for now why couldn’t she just reach out and bring him back to her, back to the place where they were as one...?
Whatever he had said, and however disappointed he claimed to be with the choices she was making, surely what they had was so strong that he would not be able to resist the temptation to take this through at least until they left the island? Surely she wasn’t alone in wanting that?
‘I really don’t think so...’
Leandro politely removed her hand and Emily licked her lips and stared at him, mortified at the rejection.
‘We’re attracted to one another,’ she said shakily. ‘You said so yourself...’
‘We are... But I’ve come to the conclusion that I’m no longer willing to take what’s on offer—not with the baggage involved...’
He had barely tasted what he had eaten. He crumpled the foil in which the sandwich had been wrapped and tossed it into the open cooler, then looked at her coolly.
‘For me, this hasn’t run its course. But I have no intention of following it through for a couple more days until you go running back to your cuckolded fiancé...’
It would have been impossible for Emily to have gone any redder.
‘So you’re giving me an ultimatum? Leave Oliver or else things go back to how they were before we came here...?’
She blinked back tears of hurt and rejection. She should be angry with him for his double standards, for his wanting her to adapt her whole life to suit him when he would not have done likewise for her.
‘Throw in my marriage for the sake of a few weeks of fun with you...?’
‘Who said anything about it lasting a few weeks? Could be less...could be more...’
‘And I’m honestly supposed to sacrifice my future for “could be less...could be more...”?’
‘If you could convince me that this future of yours wasn’t worth sacrificing then we wouldn’t be having this conversation now. In fact I’m presuming that if this future of yours was that meaningful we wouldn’t have ended up in bed in the first place...’
He stood up and without the slightest hint of embarrassment flung the towel aside and put on the swimming trunks which he had discarded the minute they had reached the island.
Without looking at him, Emily began clearing away the remains of what they had eaten. Most of it was left and she hoped that the chef wouldn’t be upset. The fact was that she couldn’t have had another bite if her life had depended on it.
She didn’t know what else to say. He had withdrawn from her, and that was evident in his cool politeness as they packed their things away in silence and the boat went back to the main island, likewise in silence.
Her sporadic attempts at conversation were met with a detachment that chilled her to the bone.
So this was what it felt like, she thought with despair. This was what love felt like. She had fancied herself in complete control of the situation and had thrown herself wholeheartedly into an affair on the assumption that snatching a couple of weeks of undiluted happiness would have no lasting consequences. She wasn’t made for falling in love and yet it had ambushed her from behind. Life without Leandro was like staring down the barrel of a gun.
She sat on her hands because she was so tempted to reach out and touch him. When had all her defence mechanisms fallen by the wayside? When had lust turned into love? She couldn’t pinpoint a moment in time. She just knew that she would have to grab what was on offer and run with it or else live a life of regret, and she didn’t think she had the strength to live with regret. It would not make a happy companion.
The minute they were back at the hotel, after the longest boat ride and Jeep drive in her entire life, he picked up some polite threads of conversation. She thought that it was purely to accommodate the fact that there were other people around them now—people who had cheerfully accepted the relationship between boss and secretary and would have been curious had they witnessed its breakdown first-hand.
But she was miserably aware of the change in him. The safety of the future she had planned now seemed as flimsy as a wisp of smoke. So much would have been sorted with this marriage, so many problems solved, and everything would have been fine had she had her heart intact. She would have entered into it as the business proposition both she and Oliver had agreed on.
Now she knew that any such business proposition was just not meant to be, and for a few seconds she was furious with Leandro for throwing everything out of kilter.
He had tossed her a carrot and it wasn’t even a very good one. A few weeks—maybe longer, maybe not—of having fun in bed and then he would be off, in search of another playmate.
He promised nothing because he had nothing to give, and whilst she appreci
ated the honesty she resented the fact that in the end he could wield such power over her. She resented the fact that her ammunition had been so shockingly incomplete. She resented the love that was burning a hole through her.
He turned to her when they were briefly out of earshot of any of the attendant staff. ‘Feel free to dine tonight in your room. I have things I need to catch up on and I shall probably be busy for the remainder of the day and this evening.’
He leaned against the wooden railing that skirted the dining area. Heavy bougainvillaea, abloom with bright red and orange flowers, shielded them from the sun and threw his handsome face into shadow. That said, she was still perfectly capable of making out the cold, set line of his jaw and the aloofness in his eyes.
Hesitantly she reached out and placed her hand on his arm. She didn’t remove it when he looked at it and then back at her, his expression hard and unforgiving.
‘You can look,’ he drawled, ‘but you have lost the right to touch.’
‘No, I haven’t.’
She looked him squarely in the face. Her voice was calm and controlled but her heart was beating like a jackhammer and her mouth was dry.
‘Come again?’ Leandro found that he was holding his breath, watching her face intently, barely able to move a muscle.
‘You’re right,’ she said quietly. ‘I can’t marry Oliver. Not when this is happening between us. Safety might be appealing, but what we have is too strong to resist. So I’m going to call him as soon as I get to my room and tell him that the marriage is...off...’
CHAPTER NINE
EMILY STRETCHED OUT on the massive king-sized bed and did a slow visual tour of the bedroom.
This was her routine every time she stayed the night at his apartment. Sex, and a great deal of it, then a pleasantly fractured night’s sleep during which one or the other might reach out blindly and their bodies would fuse, even though they might both be half asleep, and in the morning while he went downstairs to make them both a cup of coffee before the day began this...this visual tour of his bedroom. She was committing it to memory because, although it had been nearly five weeks since they had returned to the UK, she knew that she was living on borrowed time.
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