Chapter 12
Once back in my glorious bedroom, I reflect on the lunch with Luke.
After his confession, he sat looking at me with a huge question in his eyes.
I panicked and made a joke about having the perfect wife in mind for him.
I told him all about Liberty and her relentless pursuit for a man, any man, as long as he has eyes that can point in the same direction and a full set of teeth.
I wander over to the desk by the bay window in my room.
There’s a brochure with pictures of a spa and people having relaxing massages and hot stones placed on their shoulder blades.
In my current on-edge state, it looks very inviting.
There’s also a hot tub, and I experience an instant flashback to Benidorm, and me riding Matteo like a bucking bronco, without a care in the world for health and safety or public hygiene.
I ring reception to see about the Scandinavian-style spa. The receptionist quickly tells me that all I have to do is turn up. It’s all complimentary.
‘Complimentary?’
‘Yes, madam. Free of charge. Your bill is completely taken care of.’
The Sinfonia are incredibly generous.
‘We have complimentary towels, slippers and a range of swimming costumes at the spa reception,’ she says. ‘But most patrons opt to go naked.’
‘Naked?’
‘Like they do in Finland,’ she explains casually as though it’s the most natural thing in the world. ‘You can also book a slot for a facial and de-stress massage if you so wish?’
‘I do wish that,’ I say. ‘I do wish that very much.’ Where has my Geordie accent disappeared to? I sound like I’m from Buckinghamshire. ‘I wish to avail myself of all that is on offer, thank you so kindly. Except the going naked bit. I’m not Scandinavian enough for that.’
I have six hours before I am due on stage. Plenty of time to sober up by way of steaming it out of my system. ‘Oh, can you also send the concierge up to collect my costumes for tonight, please? I need them express dry-cleaned.’
‘Certainly, madam. I’ll send up some swimwear options too. What size do you require?’
* * *
By the time the girls at the spa have run their hands lightly over my face with essential oils and massaged my back and shoulders, I am all but asleep. Soft music is lulling me into a deep state of relaxation and happiness. Wine fumes are escaping from my every pore.
‘Hot tub, madam?’ one of them asks and, without even opening my eyes, I nod gratefully.
She laces up the back of the new bikini I chose from the fabulous selection that was sent to my room, wraps me into a fluffy robe and places a pair of brand-new slipper-type sliders on my feet and leads me over to the spa area.
She points out the hot tub, sauna and steam room.
‘Then perhaps a swim to cool off,’ she whispers, indicating a picturesque waterfall splashing into a rock-lined plunge pool.
‘You have the entire place to yourself. Enjoy.’ The lights are very low, like a tropical oasis.
Gentle, relaxing music is playing while the scent of bergamot and jasmine fills the air.
The heady concoction of the aroma and half a bottle of delicious wine is putting me into a trance.
I step gingerly down into the hot tub as she takes the robe from me.
The bubbling hot water sends a soothing warmth straight to my bones.
I sag against the seat, flopping my head backwards.
I have never been so relaxed in my entire life.
As the jets of water massage my feet, I allow my mind to wander back to that incredible night with Matteo.
The feel of his lips. The touch of his hands.
The electricity surging between us, whipping up a wild and out-of-control lust for each other.
A small, desirous groan of longing rumbles from my throat.
Only one week and three days until we are reunited.
But it feels like a lifetime. I wonder if Matteo would be up for some phone sex. I’ve heard from Tash that it is the next best thing.
‘Penny for your thoughts?’
My eyes snap open.
Sodding hell.
‘Sorry to interrupt.’ Luke is standing by the hot tub, glistening, towel in hand. ‘They told me the place was empty.’ He shrugs, causing droplets of water to run down his bare chest. ‘Glad you seem to be enjoying it so… thoroughly.’
I swallow an imaginary lump in my throat. It’s as though he is in my mind. My filthy, filthy mind. ‘How long have you been there?’
‘Long enough.’ His eyes cloud.
I know a lustful look when I see one. And Luke has one plastered all over his face.
I sink a little lower into the bubbling water.
My boobs are bursting to be free from this skimpy bikini.
My nipples are poking through, reminding me of the two pickled quail eggs we ate at lunch.
I choose my words carefully so as not to encourage him.
‘I was practising my tongue trills.’ I’ve managed to make it sound sexual.
‘I mean, I was blowing, erm… lip bubbles.’ Sounds just as dirty.
Luke’s eyes grow wide. ‘You can blow whatever you like. I’m very open-minded.’ He waggles his eyebrows and takes a step towards the tub. ‘Can I join you? I find the steam great for the larynx.’
This is very true, and while I think the two of us sharing a hot tub is a terrible idea, I’m at a loss for words as to how to tell him no.
But he starts to get in before I can say anything.
I hastily look away as he climbs in and sits down opposite.
Steam billows around us, making me feel light-headed and dreamy.
I try to sit up straight. I must act normal, so he doesn’t think I’m encouraging him.
Just because we are both tipsy, and he is sitting across from me looking like a sexually depraved catwalk model, doesn’t mean anything needs to happen between us.
He seems to inch a little closer.
It causes my pulse to react. ‘I was thinking around, erm… around 5 p.m. for a light dinner?’ I hear the break in my voice as I busy myself, collecting up my hair. I twirl it into a bun and rearrange the clip.
He watches every movement intensely.
My boobs thrust towards him as I lift my arms. It had seemed like a good idea in the moment. Now, it feels as though I’m inviting him to knead them like lumps of dough.
I watch him swallow. He seems mesmerised by my every move. I watch him lean back, resting his arms casually on either side. Droplets of water rolling casually over his biceps.
Electricity crackles between us.
‘You are… simply breathtaking,’ Luke says, his voice barely audible. He shakes his head. ‘Sorry. That was wildly inappropriate.’ His eyes flick down to my quail eggs before he tries to disguise it by inspecting the surroundings.
I have butterflies raging inside me and my voice has become low and husky.
I turn coyly away as I feel heat rise to my already flushed cheeks.
My blood pressure is skyrocketing. Where does one go with that?
What is the social etiquette around two work colleagues sharing a giant bath when one of them is clearly attracted to the other?
This is wrong on so many levels, not least professionally, but I am equally alarmed to be enjoying the attention.
However, I must discourage this thing before it goes any further.
‘I blame my upbringing,’ he says. ‘Norwegians are very open and honest about things. And I did go to a French boarding school in Switzerland where anything goes, so that hasn’t helped.’
I am reminded that he probably speaks French like a native. And we all know what else Frenchmen are famous for.
‘I don’t want to be the cause of any embarrassment.
And I’d hate to make you uncomfortable.’ He is impeccably polite.
‘But I’ve never met anyone quite like you before.
You are truly exceptionelle, and I have a deep respect for your talent.
I just need you to understand that.’ The intensity of his words sends a crackle of excitement shooting through me. ‘I know I’d regret not telling you.’
I. AM. GIDDY.
I am also quite tipsy. And when I am tipsy, I also become fluent in French. I have a GCSE in it. Well, I don’t. It’s in Spanish. Which is the only explanation I can find as to why I blurt out this next thing.
‘Non, je ne regrette rien.’
His eyebrows shoot up. ‘Exactly. Life’s too short for regrets. Edith Piaf certainly had a weakness for men. Raised in a bordello, you know.’
I do know. I studied everything about her turbulent romantic history as part of my music degree. ‘Although, she was no stranger to rejection.’
‘Rejection? What’s that?’ Luke grins. He is ridiculously good-looking, especially in this flattering, dim spa light.
I take a beat. It’s not my fault Luke and I seem to be drawn together like magnets.
But it will be my fault if I allow anything to happen.
Especially if I keep openly propositioning him with song titles that sound like sexual invitations.
I really hope Matteo is not also on the receiving end of such blatant French temptation.
‘The French have rather cornered the market when it comes to songs about love… and sex, of course,’ he continues, not taking his eyes from mine.
I swallow nervously.
We are work colleagues, I chant silently. We are professional artists. We are doing nothing wrong. We are having playful conversation. All is above board and morally certifiable because we are creatives. And everyone knows creatives have a different way of doing things.
‘Forbidden sex is always the hottest sex, don’t you find?’ he says, breaking the silence. He tilts his head, as though he’s wondering how I’ll react. ‘The French are very good at that too.’
I nod blankly. I have no idea. Although, in this moment, I can quite imagine illicit, steamy, handprint-on-the-car-window sex with someone you really shouldn’t be having sex with being very, very erotic.
We stare at one another for what feels like an eternity. My heart is thumping wildly in my chest. I don’t want to be this attracted to him, but I am. I just am.
What about poor Matteo? Poor lovely, sweet Matteo.
Who I am head-over-heels mad about. Just as I’m about to blurt out that my heart belongs to another, Luke stands up, the water swishing round his muscular thighs.
His swimming shorts are sticking to him like cling film.
My eyes are drawn to his manhood straining against the fabric like a giant, prize-winning cucumber, a few inches from my face.
I gulp. This man has no sense of boundaries.
‘We should go,’ he says in a serious tone.
He holds out his hand to help me up, leaving a tingling sensation in my fingertips.
The spark causes me to let go. His eyes are clouded with lust. He felt it too.
We stand inches apart in the hot, bubbling water, steam billowing around us.
The only two people in the entire place.
My chest expands with each deep breath. Once again, my quail eggs draw his gaze, causing a low moan to escape from his throat.
‘Go? Go where?’ I say, stalling. Christ Almighty, what have I done?
He drags his eyes to my mouth; my lips have parted with the heat as water drips slowly down my face, my neck, my chest. I can feel each individual drop. He blinks slowly. ‘Upstairs.’